


One foot in front of the other foot

by zetsubou69



Series: The Scotsman, the Englishman, and the ginger cat [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Demisexuality, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:09:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4444772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubou69/pseuds/zetsubou69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts on Friday in the MI6 cafeteria, where Bond casually inquires about everyone's plans for the evening, as he's looking for someone to have a drinks with.<br/>And that’s how usually very professional Q got himself a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One foot in front of the other foot

It starts on Friday in the MI6 cafeteria, where during one lazy lunch with Bond, Eve, and few others, James casually inquires about everyone’s plans for the evening.

“Don’t look at me, James, I’m taking Mary for our girl’s night out,“ replies Eve.

R&D rats just shake their heads and mention some explosives in development.

Danielle, Q’s right hand, apologizes. “We’re celebrating an anniversary, my husband and I.“

James laughs and wishes her happy anniversary.

“I’m free tonight, “says Q into silence before quickly biting into his sandwich again.

James grins widely.

“Great. Will pick you up at 18:00 sharp. “

And that’s how usually very professional Q got himself a date.

 

*

 

James Bond enjoys his few days off in between missions when he is free to make use of the shooting range as much as he wants, flirt around the MI6 or simply pretend he is a big bored cat lounging around. Nobody comments on double-oh’s behaviour, as long as he doesn’t create any uproar. And on the contrary to rumours, James rarely creates any if he’s off mission (incidents in training area excluded).

It’s surprising to all parties involved how workaholic Quartermaster finds himself in company of one of most lethal men in Britain, having a drink.

“Have you run out of interns to seduce?” Q smirks as he sips his wine. He can take few glasses, then a cab home. Around them, the rest of the bar watches a tennis match on a big flat screen. Bond, sipping his scotch, just shrugs.

“I’m enjoying being off-duty while stuck in London. I would prefer Mallory had no reason to chew my head off. He would not, but buying a new apartment every time I go off radar gets tedious.”

Q laughs and there are mischievous sparks in Bond’s eyes too.

They talk about politics, gossip, and technology.

“I would have never guessed you to know so much about computers,” Q admits, slightly tipsy, after their heated discussion about means of bypassing an electronic security is over.

Bond, who already rid himself of his suit jacket, just straightens a bit, the thin white shirt showing off muscles underneath.

“It’s less a matter of wanting to study things, and more to do with survival needs. You design it, but I need to know how to use it under any circumstances. That applies to whatever I encounter when I’m out. Do you know how to shoot?”

Q nods. “Of course. I test all of my designs.”

“See, all the same.”

 

*

 

Q notices lots of things about the agent. One of them is that Bond _flirts_. It’s his natural behaviour, to assess, show his appreciation of a beautiful person. Be it a waitress or a target or anyone else, Bond treats them all the same in this regard.

He also takes care to compliment on Q’s skills when he leads Bond’s operations.

Q also notices that Bond lets his eyes wander all over people regardless of gender. Q sees Bond check him out several times during the evening. Yet, the agent stays perfectly professional and never once crosses the friendly line.

They don’t discuss anything personal. They manage to talk the whole evening without using each other’s name or designation.

Bond offers to share a cab, and when Q resolutely refuses, he reaches out his hand and ruffles the Quartermaster’s hair.

“Do you realize I am an adult human, and that such behaviour is considered rude?” Q asks, slightly annoyed. Just slightly, since Q is touch deprived and even from a distance, he can smell Bond’s overly expensive cologne. Thought about burying his nose in that scent crosses Q’s mind.

“I couldn’t resist. Goodnight,” Bond laughs and turns around to walk home. He carries his jacket over his shoulder and gives Q a nice view.

 

*

 

Q likes to focus on his carrier. He prefers not to let his mind drift much. He gave up on most relationships right after MI6 took him in, and he was never one for office romances. He has adopted a cat from a shelter after he has secured himself a tiny apartment. Government pays nicely and he doesn’t have much to spend on.

“You know, Felix, there are rules about fraternizing, especially with the agents. But if James asks me out again, I might really want to fuck him,” Q whines as he hits the bed later that evening. “If only you could appreciate the view as I had chance to do.”

Felix the cat doesn’t stop from grooming his ginger fur.

 

*

 

“At the next intersection turn left, three hundred meters straight, and next left again” Q orders, his fingers playing a symphony on the keyboard. He’s willing the traffic lights to his obey him, so Bond will have a clean road. After London, Moscow, Paris, Budapest; Vienna is just another city where Q has to lead Bond out of the trouble as a glorified GPS.

“Q, please tell me that you are not making this a nascar race,” comes back Bond’s voice to Q’s headphones.

“Be a good agent, and just follow your target and shoot them. Without collateral damage, preferably. I am fond of Vienna the way it is. Also, turn left again. Your target is the one who thinks that turning this into nascar will make them disappear.”

Q hears Bond swear, then two shots ring the coms, followed by a screeching of brakes, and another shot.

“Target eliminated, intel acquired. Could you have me disappear off the traffic cameras? I know a great restaurant around that’s still open.”

As if Bond could resist going off radar to spoil himself even more, after robbing a crashed car and its dead driver off a computer.

“What do you think I’ve been doing here all that time?” Q snorts. Instead of a reply there is a silence. Bond got rid of his earpiece again.

 

*

 

Next time Q and Bond are out together, Bond takes them to a posh French restaurant Q would never have visited on his own.

They discuss contemporary literature and films. Q gets very passionate about sci-fi shows and Bond confesses he likes historical and spooky ones.

“I can’t believe you watch Capaldi in The Musketeers and yet you’ve never seen him in Doctor Who. Where do you get the time to watch all that?”

“Twelve hour long flights are the perfect conditions to marathon a whole season of something. What about you? Don’t you boffins have work to do?”

“At three in the morning, waiting for a double oh to get on his coms, in case he immediately requires assistance, even boffins get bored.”

The wine is delicious, and Bond insists on paying.

When he returns home, Q is terribly tempted to call one of his ex-lovers. He falls asleep to sound of Felix purring and a memory of white shirt hugging Bond’s torso tightly.

 

*

 

“I don’t have access to their CCTV system. In case you need my assistance, we are relying on your descriptive skills. However, this mission should be very simple. Seduce the target and get a hold of the data in her computer. No killing necessary.”

“Why do I feel like some explosions would be more fun? Why didn’t you give me any? I thought I was your favourite. ”

“Behave, double-oh. I might the one who equips you with the explosives, but even I have my bosses.”

“Would you like me to get you something from Rome?”

“My memory stick. I am fond of the program on it. If you add some interesting data, you might even get a treat.”

The next night Q listens to Bond seducing an Italian arms dealer. She moans James’s name and he purrs into her ear. Bond acts as if he wasn’t aware of the hidden communicator until the woman falls asleep. Then he quickly gets up, opens her notebook, and plugs in the USB he got from Q.

“Intel transmission successful,” double-oh seven announces quietly, then he’s offline.

 

*

 

Eve comes to Q-branch one lazy lunch time with a box of sushi – takeaway lunch for both of them – requiring tea. Q makes her a cuppa, she brought him lunch after all.

“You should sleep with him, you know,” Eve suggests.

Q frowns.

“What makes you believe he’s interested in his very gay Quartermaster? He is a perfect example of heterosexuality and casual friendliness.”

“James sleeps with everyone who shows interest in him, if he’s free. You find him hot, and you deserve some fun, after all the time you put up with his temper tantrums.”

Q rolls his eyes.

“Just because I am gay, it doesn’t mean I’m going to go for a first man, who talks to me and who is not my direct superior officer. Bond’s not my type anyway.”

Miss Moneypenny finishes her last maki roll and claps her chopsticks.

“Too promiscuous?”

“Too old. Now go, I have programs to work on.”

 

*

 

They go to see a film in a cinema. Neither of them remembers when the last time they did something as simple as this was. Fist fights, lots of skin, guitars with flamethrowers, cars that do weird things.

“Could you build a car like that for me?” Bond asks.

“I highly doubt MI6 would qualify it as stealthy or useful in any way, so while it would be entertaining to build, the reply is no,” Q laughs.

Nearby bars are closed, but James is a great conversation partner, so Q barely notices they are in front of the door to James’s apartment.

Bond keeps plenty of alcohol there, so they get to drink more of sweet wine, as they are sitting on the wooden floor like a couple of teenagers. They take apart Bond’s Walther, and Q explains to him every bit of science behind palm recognition. Both of them consider this a pleasant night.

 

*

 

 

They also end up making out like a couple of teenagers.

“So, Q, what’s your name?” Bond asks between placing kisses on Q’s neck. James takes his time with every inch of bare skin. Q also never before has felt more like a cat, until James starts massaging his scalp with his strong and skilful hands.

“It’s in my file, Bond,” Q breathes out.

“The file, which is classified and redacted even to me. What do I really call you?”

James runs his wet tongue over Q’s jugular and Q raises his hips to meat Bond’s thigh.

“Q has to do, James. Q is me, now.”

They kiss hungrily. James holds onto Q’s hands and pins the thinner man down with his body.

They also kiss lazily. They don’t have sex, they simply end up sleeping still dressed besides each other on the comfortable couch.

In the morning, James thanks him for the night and touches his lips to Q’s temple.

“But we didn’t fuck,” Q counters, before his sleepy brain stop his mouth. The other man chuckles.

“Is that what you wanted?” James asks, then gets up to set the kettle and make a morning pot of coffee, enough for both of them.

 

*

 

Nothing changes.

“Double-oh seven, get on the bloody train before it leaves. The bomber is in the second carriage and if you blow up Paris I won’t be the only angry one.”

“Couldn’t you say so earlier, honey?” James complains, but does as necessary for the Queen and the country.

From France he brings Q an old French edition of Jules Verne’s _Twenty thousand leagues under the sea_ , and a bottle of overpriced red wine.

“Since when do you know I speak French?” Q inquires, focusing on the old book, overlooking the existence of the wine. Predictable nerd.

Bond shrugs his shoulders, his blue eyes fixed on Q’s happy face.

“They say you are a genius. You’re an open book, to some extent.”

 

*

 

Current double-oh seven is one of the oldest active field agents, but eventually he always gets the job done. Having an overqualified guardian angel helps.

Q is a workaholic and he’s proud of it, thus Bond doesn’t always get Q’s attention. Sometimes Bond brings a book and a quiet advice, when Q guides other agents during missions. Sometimes there’s a mug of tea Q doesn’t notice until it gets cold, because Bond disappears when Q is too busy.

James Bond is a perfectly working weapon capable of doing what is required of him under any circumstances. This weapon has decided to take care of its handler on its own accord.

 

*

 

Eve brings doughnuts and hot chocolate. She asks Q about his man.

“Miss Moneypenny, I believe that a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. Neither should a lady. My cat is doing fine, thank you for asking.”

Q distracts her with cat videos and photos, but only because she lets herself be distracted.

 

*

 

Sometimes it is days or weeks of being apart. The waiting parts of missions need to be filled. They talk about more books, random Wikipedia facts, and eventually move on to poetry. Q’s unexplainable fondness of Bukowski and Bond’s disapproval of anything but opera and catchy music lyrics are explored.

“Have you seen Carmen?”

“No. Ouch. I haven’t. Is it any good?”

“Magnificent. What’s up with you?”

“My cat decided I’m his old-new scratching post.”

“You have a cat?”

“Felix. He’s ginger, fat, and sleeps in my bed. Double-oh, your target is arriving.”

 

*

 

Between 007’s missions, missions that include either a seduction or a murder or sometimes even both, Q finds himself on top of Bond’s boringly grey bedsheets several more times. It’s always quite the same. James picks Q up at the end of his work day, they eat together, and James waits a moment, then invites Q over. Q accepts.

Bond’s apartment is secure, so they discuss everything from gossip to plans for upcoming missions. Q teaches Bond coding and little things about technology. In return he learns more about self-defense and ancient weaponry and, surprisingly, about cooking.

The get to kiss, they touch, Q receives a mind-blowing massages, yet, they never have sex.

Q has noticed, James loves to hold hands. Neither of them comments on it. They spend minutes and hours entwining their fingers and rubbing circles on backs of each other’s hands. When the mood strikes, Bond holds Q’s thin wrists and restricts his movement. Q enjoys and welcomes it.

Q is shirtless and Bond nips on Q’s collarbone. Q uses the moment James is not holding his hands and moves his hand down to rub Bond’s groin.

Bond jerks his hips and moves his lips away from Q’s skin.

“Just occurred to me, did you ever get to play with a sniper rifle? To shoot a target that’s a mile and half away?” Bond asks casually.

Any further undressing is postponed.

 

*

 

Q’s lying on his stomach in the grass, looking at the target one zero point seven mile away through optical sights. Bond is nearby, looking through binoculars. Q shoots and the bullet hits the target.

“Are you sure you don’t want to become a field agent? You’re a natural,” Bond praises him.

Q reloads the rifle. The day is fine, the wind is mild and they are actually having fun training like this.

Later, they are in Q’s apartment, James is playing with Felix the cat, and Q blurts out his question before he can stop it with wine.

“Is there a reason why you refuse to have sex with me, James?” Q asks.

Bond smiles. It’s not a calming sight. Q doesn’t know if Bond is trying to scare him or just make fun of him.

“But, Q, you never explicitly asked for sex. However, I’d advise you to seek it elsewhere. People I fucked don’t live long afterwards.”

That’s all he gets from James that night. Well, that and another of those magnificent massages that leave him feeling better than quick sex possibly could.

 

*

 

James returns from Morocco with two ugly bullet wounds. It’s less of _he returns_ and more of _he’s returned_ on a stretcher by couple of strong soldiers. Q scolds him like a disobedient child while medics pump the agent with painkillers and stitch up the holes in him.

Double-oh seven is ordered a rest, so he takes up training rookies in his spare time.

 

*

 

They’ve moved from spending the night at Bond’s sterile apartment to Q’s tiny but cosy one. Felix is sleeping on the couch and Bond serves Q a dinner. Lately, Bond is enjoying being able to pick some of his missions, or refuse them if they don’t suit him anymore.

Q has noticed Bond picks the kills, as often as he gets the choice.

“It’s Phillip,” Q tells him, in between bites of the steak. “The name on my birth certificate is Phillip.”

Bond smiles at him fondly.

“Nice to meet you, Phillip.” James replies. Then he pushes his plate away. “Most people are sexually attractive to me perhaps as much as C-3PO,” he states.

“What?” Q almost chokes on his dinner. With Bond’s record of sexual prowess it never occurred Q to think that there’s a possibility of James being asexual. “But you have seduced almost as many people as you’ve legally killed. How?”

“Oh, that’s simple. I love my body. I know what I like. It’s just not the pretty ladies or handsome guys, who do it for me. When you kill for living, having sex with people who don’t attract you is easy.”

Q takes a moment to process James’s words, pushing away self-doubt with steady breathes. Then he meets Bond’s gaze.

“Well, then, why did you pick me? Because you assumed I’ll believe you are experimenting heterosexual and won’t ask for anything?”

James shakes his head, almost apologetically, and takes Q’s hand into his own.

“No. Au contraire. It’s because I trust you. And I’m also learning to want you,” he purrs.

“Successfully?” Q quips, dinner forgotten.

Instead of a reply, Bond’s fingers slip into Q’s hair and he draws him closer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to use a demisexual character for quite a while. As I am very fond of 00Q ship, I tried to force one of these characters to this. Demi!Bond & gay!Q turned out to be the solution; after a long fight with these characters.   
> If you find anything that feels _off_ , please say so, so next time (if there is any) you can enjoy them even more.  
> (I'm shamelessly posting everything I write because I feed off feedback as vampires feed off blood. Bloody extrovert, you might say. //blogentryover)  
> Thank you for reading. Comment and kudos are love.  
> Big thanks to N & Fray for corrections of my crappy language.


End file.
